Everyone talks about Mr. Graves

The way he walks, the way his sleeves hug his arms, the way his voice drops when he’s serious

To them, he’s just a fantasy

To you… he’s a secret

You sit in the front row, pen tapping lightly against your notebook, trying to look normal Like he didn’t kiss you in the empty hallway last Friday Like he didn’t whisper your name like it meant something

“Anastasia”

Your head snaps up

He’s calling on you in class His eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable

You answer the question automatically, but your heart isn’t in it It’s somewhere back in his apartment, tangled in sheets and promises no one’s allowed to make

When class ends, he barely glances at you

Good you need space Because your parents' words are still ringing in your head — “He’s a good man. Your fiancé will take care of you”

But all you can think about is Mr. Graves’s hands on your waist His voice in your ear The way he made you feel like you belonged somewhere

Even if it was never meant to last

Even if soon, you’ll wear someone else’s ring

And Mr. Graves — the man everyone whispers about — will be the one secret you’ll carry forever